The Internship
by MakeYourBodyaCanvas
Summary: It wasn't supposed to happen, but it did. With a shortage of nurses, Lincoln is assigned lunch duty for the infamous Michael Myers. What starts off as fascination on both ends – quickly turns into obsession on one end. [Rob Zombie's Version] Michael/OC *HIATUS*
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys!**

**Yes, this is another story, but it is not about the Tudors. It's about Michael Myers.**

**This has been sitting in my computer since forever, so I finished the first chapter, and decided to upload it. **

**~I don't own nothing except for Lincoln!**

**Enjoy!**

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**The Internship:**

_**It wasn't supposed to happen, but it did. With a shortage of nurses, Lincoln is assigned lunch duty for the infamous Michael Myers. What starts off as fascination on both ends – quickly turns into obsession on one end. **_

**[Rob Zombie's Version]**

**Michael/OC**

**Chapter 1: Week Two**

It was the same stare.

Blank nothingness shone through his eyes as he stared out into the distant past. What ran through his mind, nobody knew. It was a guessing game constantly with him, but every time you thought you had him, he'd change the game completely. His doctor once used the comparison of a poker match to describe him – "He has a mean face, no sign of emotion. I'd hate to play poker with him." Now the comparison was different. No one, not even his own doctor understood him now. No one knew it, but he had won the game a long time ago.

But now, he was painstakingly loosing the game. _His own game. _He didn't know how she did it, but she was winning, and he knew she had no clue at all. He had seen her around before, she would walk around with the nurses, listening to every word they said, jotting down notes, or sometimes just simply trying to remember what was said. She dealt with the patients in the East Wing: those who suffered from depression, suicidal thoughts or actions, mental/physical disabilities, and so forth. Never in his wildest dreams (and they were wild) had he thought that she'd be here with him, slowly, unknowingly winning _his_ game.

Never in a million years had he thought someone could beat him at his own game, but it deemed possible. And he hated it. He hated the looks she gave him, he hated the words she said, and he hated her, but most of all, he hated himself. He hated that he was so weak around this girl, that she could make him feel things, think things over. He had only, ever came across two people in his entire life who had that effect on him. One of them left him, the other one was still out there, and he couldn't wait to find that person. He knew that the girl before him was one of those special people, she wasn't like anyone else here, or that he remembered, but he still hadn't decided whether she lives or dies. He had been craving to kill something lately…

"You need to eat."

For the pass twenty minutes, Michael had been refusing to eat. It didn't go pass the young intern that Michael barely ate, it was recorded that the longest he had gone without eating was two years in-a-half. But she didn't care; Michael knew that, so he decided that he wasn't going to care either, not that it made a difference. He would never admit it, hell, he wouldn't admit to himself, but he enjoyed these moments they had. Seeing the fire in her eyes when he's refuse to do something made him tingle inside, something he despised.

"Eat – now."

Now the command. Michael had quickly learned the pattern to their little game, well _his_ game. She wouldn't speak for twenty minutes, and then she'd gingerly remind him of the food in front of him. When five minutes pass, that's when she's annoyed. She knows that he comprehends that the food is in front of him, but he just won't pick up the spoon and eat the soup they had for lunch six days out of the week. (On Fridays they had a different meal, each one not the same.). She'd then command him to eat.

"Fine, die of malnutrition. See if I care."

Now the guilt. She'd try to guilt him into eating. Why she thought that would work was beyond him. Hadn't she heard the rumors? Surely she has, he's seen the guards and nurses whisper it all to her. He's the devil, and the devil feels nothing for no one, not even those who are of alliance with him. But what made Michael tilt his head to the side every time, she'd say 'I'. Not 'we', or 'them', or 'us', but 'I'. As in singular, speaking for herself, and only herself.

"Michael, I swear if you don't eat this food I will inject so much morphine into your system that you'll be out for days."

Now the threat. Michael hated this part. He would narrow his eyes at her and glare one full of pure hate. He didn't take kindly to be threatened; he had beaten a kid with a stick when he was ten for being bullied and threaten. But Michael knew she wasn't kidding. When she was first assigned to him, he wouldn't eat; he wanted to see how far he could push her. Next thing he knew, Loomis was standing over him as he was chained down to his bed. She had actually done it; she had injected so much morphine into him that he was knocked out cold. Michael couldn't believe it.

Of course, though, no one was concerned for Michael, they knew whatever came his way he would withstand. They found that out when he was fifteen. He had struck a guard so badly that the guard fell into a coma. Michael that same day was strapped up to the electric chair. The volts were enough to put him in a comatose stage, but Michael appeared as fine.

Michael, against his restrains, lifted the spoon and ate. He hated the smug look on her face.

**~..~**

"How did it go?"

Lincoln shrugged her shoulders. "The same as usual."

"He didn't try anything?"

"No."

"He didn't say a word?"

"Nope."

"No movement at all?"

"Zilch."

"Nothing at all?'

"Nothing, Loomis, you know I'd tell you if he did anything."

Loomis's shoulders slumped, but he nodded his head. "Alright, alright," he said. "How are you? You look exhausted." He noted the dark circles under her eyes, and how pale her skin had become. The usual spring in her step was gone, along with her radiant smile.

Lincoln noticed Loomis staring at her; she moved her locks of brown hair to shield her face. She felt self-conscious when people stared at her, examining her. "I'm fine." Only she wasn't.

Against her mother's better judgment, she took the internship of Smith's Groove. She was planning on being a nurses when she was older, what type of field she'd want to go into was still undecided, but she knew in her heart that she wanted to be a nurse. When she had first started at Smith' Groove, her boss, Glenda, would take her to the East Wing to get accustomed to the patients there. Depression, suicide, and other life threatening disabilities was something she had seen before, but she swore it wasn't going to bother her, because it wasn't about her, it was about those people.

Loomis nodded his head. "How's your home life?"

Too personal, too personal, _way too personal._

No one at Smith Groove's, or at school knew about Lincoln's home life. They just knew it was her and her mother living in an apartment development. No one knew who Lincoln's father was, and Lincoln wished she was one of those people. Her past with her father wasn't something she'd call "fond" memories. The same could be said for her mother right now.

"It's alright, I mean, my mom's found a job, so we're good." Like the job last that long anyway. Lincoln's mother had trouble keeping a job; she always had factors getting in her way. And she'd once again depend on Lincoln for money.

"That's good, that's good." Loomis clasped his hands behind his back and looked her straight in the eyes. "Lincoln, be honest with me, how do you really feel about being assigned to Michael?"

I enjoy it. I enjoy it way more than I should, Lincoln thought. He was interesting, like no one she had ever known. Michael made Lincoln feel things that she hadn't felt in a while. For a long time Lincoln had given up on trying with people, she saw no reason in communicating with them, or even socializing in a small group. But Michael – Michael made her feel again. All the frustration, silliness, the feeling of annoyance, and dare she say…happiness.

"He's fine, I guess. He's the same as he's always been." Lying was a specialty of Lincoln. Just like stealing, she had no tell, nor did she ever bluff. That was one good thing her father taught whenever he came around. Knowing how to hotwire a car was another one.

Loomis stared Lincoln down, trying to see if she was telling the truth. This was about her babysitting (as Lincoln liked to call it) a psychopathic murder who had murdered his sister, step-father, and sister's boyfriend all in one night! There was also the fact that the murders were the most gruesome murders Haddonfield had ever seen. So Loomis had to make sure Lincoln wasn't pulling one over on him.

This had happened so many times before; Lincoln did the same routine conscienceless. She stared back at Loomis, never wavering. Her eyes held nothing in them, nothing that Loomis could use against her. Her body was relaxed. Surly no one guilty would be too worried, or she was a psychopath herself. She had done this countless times with the cops that would haul her to the station back in Seattle.

"Alright, alright," Loomis sighed. He had caved, much to Lincoln's pleasure. "But go home and rest." He pointed a finger at her. "I mean it, Lincoln. The next time you come in here like a zombie I will place you on bed rest myself. Do we have an understanding?"

Lincoln laughed – something she hated about herself. A boy in the school yard said Lincoln's laugh sounded like a man's because it was smoky and husky.

"Alright, Doc."

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**So what do you think?**

**Please review and let me know! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys!**

**So sorry for the long wait.**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO:**

**fairydaisy777: Thank you!**

**Guest (anonymous): Sorry that I took so long.**

**Alonen51: Awe, thank you!**

**~I own nothing and no one expect for Lincoln!**

**~Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 2: Week Four**

"I don't give two shits if he fucked her after he killed her," Lincoln said. "I just want to see how he's doing."

Kluggs, one of the very annoying, very sexist, and very racist guards at Smith Grooves stood in front of the entrance of the west wing. For the pass twenty minutes Lincoln was trying to get by him, but for once (and the wrong time too) he was actually doing his job. 'He couldn't have shittier timing if he tried,' Lincoln thought.

"See how he's doing?" Kluggs scoffed. "That hugantic fucktard just killed a nurse with a fork. A fork, sweetheart. They have him high as a motherfucking kite right now, so I'd say he's doing pretty damn fine."

Lincoln's hands balled into fist at her side as she clenched her teeth. "One, don't call me sweetheart, and two, don't you ever, and I mean ever, call Michael any sort of names - ever."

"Oh," Kluggs drawled out, wiggling his eyebrow. "You're on a first name basic with 'em, huh?"

Ignoring the question, Lincoln glared at him. "I mean it, Kluggs. Don't call Michael any names. How would you like it if I called you an inbred, dumb, redneck?"

"I didn't know you were into dirty talk, darling, but you can call me anything as you ride my dick."

"Just don't call me any pet names period, alright?" Lincoln didn't even try arguing with him about his crude language. Kluggs had something perverted to say about everything. "Where's Loomis? I want to talk to him if I can't see Michael."

"The Doc's in a bit of a pickle right now. The pigs came down pretty quick and are questioning everyone."

"Since he's busy just let me sneak back real quick. In and out, no one would see me." Lincoln was to the point where she was almost on her knees begging.

Kluggs shook his head. "Pigs orders."

With a loud, frustrated groan, Lincoln stomped into the waiting room; the only room that seemed to be available to anyone. Today was just not her day so it seemed. She had woken up late; her charger fell out of the power socket so her phone had died sometime during the night. That meant she was late for school and had missed her bus. She skipped breakfast just to catch the MTA, but found at her mother had borrowed - as her mother called it - all of her money. That meant she trudged a mile to school and got there at second period. School was school, and peers were peers. When she had got home in the afternoon her mother wasn't home so that meant she had to walk to work. And of course, when she gets to work it was a huge crime scene, all because Michael had murdered a nurse with a plastic fork.

The cafeteria was off limits, all the patients were instructed to eat and stay in their room. It was eerie to hear the silence stretch in the halls of the asylum. It was normally filled with the screams, moans, and groans, chatter, and laughter of the inmates. Lincoln knew it was a major issue, and was truly worried for Michael. He had been here since he was a kid, she knew that, and she knew this wasn't the first time he had ever killed a worker. At that time, though, Michael was only ten years old, but he was an adult now, and that meant he could be trailed as an adult. This could mean that Michael could be placed on death row. A shiver ran down Lincoln's spine at the very thought.

"Linc?"

Lincoln opened her eyes and saw Ismael Cruz standing in the doorway. He was an older Hispanic man who had worked at Smiths Groove for a very long time. He was here when Michael was first brought in. He was one of the few kind older people, and one of the rare people who was kind to the patients.

"Hey, Cruz." Lincoln gave him a weak smile. "How are things going?"

Cruz shook his head and sighed loudly. "Not so good. Mikey really did it this time."

Lincoln could only nod her head in agreement. "Yeah, he fucked up big time." Cruz sat down next to her, and she noticed the brownish-red water in the cleaning bucket. "Who was it?"

"Ms. Bonham, the head nurse."

Lincoln knew exactly who that was. Ms. Bonham had been working at Smith's Groove since forever ago, she was one of the oldest employees. She was a bitter woman who was always serious, she seemed allergic to happiness, and never said a good word about anyone - not even about her late husband or two children. She was very strict too, and Lincoln found herself in Bonham's office once or twice for breaking some sort of rule. The last time Lincoln had talked to the woman was yesterday morning, and it was about Lincoln's tardiness.

"Why was she with him?" Ms. Bonham was never around Michael, she refused to watch him.

"You were late, so Loomis had Bonham take your place." Cruz leaned forward so only Lincoln could hear him. "Now, I know Mickey, he would never do something like this randomly. She had to say something to set him off."

Lincoln rolled her eyes. "All that woman ever did was talk bad about people, and Michael doesn't care about anyone."

Cruz gave her a pointed look. "I see the two of you together, _chica_. Mikey watches you. His eyes are always on you whenever you're in the room; it's like he's ready to jump in front of a moving bullet for you. I see how you look at him too."

Lincoln blushed a shade of pink. She moved her dark hair to cover her face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Cruz laughed. "Sure you don't, _chica_; sure you don't. All I'm saying is, you were never Bonham's favorite, and it was your shift she was taking because you were late. She had to be talking about you."

Lincoln flopped back in her seat and snorted. "Christ, Cruz, why don't you just say that I'm the one who killed her?" She hadn't thought about it that way, but the imagine Cruz had painted sounded pretty damn accurate.

Cruz shook his head as he stood up. "I didn't say that, you're putting words in my mouth. Now, didn't you want to see Mikey?"

Lincoln instantly perked up. "This is why you're my favorite, Cruz." Lincoln was small enough to fit in the bottom of the cart that was blocked off by a black cloth. It became a habit for Cruz to cart Lincoln around when the girl wasn't suppose to be some place.

Cruz walked towards the door and was stopped by Kluggs.

"Where are you going, old man?"

Cruz glared that the man. Kluggs was not only disrespectful to the patiences, but to his elders as well. "The cops were cleaning over Mikey's room. They told me to come back there in twenty minutes."

That was a lie, but it was a good excuse.

Kluggs nodded his head and moved to the side. He placed his hand on the cart suddenly, making Cruz jerk to a sudden stop. Lincoln bit her tongue to stop her squeal of surprise.

"Maybe I should go back there with ya. Ya know, back up."

Lincoln rolled her eyes. Kluggs was so full of shit, he didn't care what happened to Cruz, he just wanted to see Michael.

Cruz narrowed his eyes. "No, I'm good. I've been dealing with this kid for fifteen years, I got this."

The cart began to move again, and Lincoln peeked out from under the curtain to see what was going on. Once they had passed the doors to the inmates rooms all she saw was shiny, black shoes. The murmurs of cops was all she heard, and their walkie-talkies going off too. For a murder scene, they didn't seem all that concerned. In fact, they were all calm. The atmosphere was actually peaceful, like the officers were just relaxing. When they got to Michael's door, however, about eight cops surrounded it.

Lincoln didn't think this part through. Of course no officer would be in the room with Michael, but they would be standing guard outside. She doubted that they would let Cruz through. But, like always, the old man had something up his sleeve.

"You're sheriff wanted me to tell ya'll gentlemen to take a break, he's sending another group of men to keep watch."

And, without question, the officers left. Lincoln couldn't blame them, though. If she hadn't known Michael like she did then she surely wouldn't want to be standing guard for him either, even if a metal door separated them. There was just something about Michael's size and stature that made plenty of people uneasy. Compared to Michael, Lincoln looked like a fine china doll; sweet, innocent, and beautiful, but also very fragile and breakable. Michael could easily break her if he wanted to, and Lincoln was positive he thought about doing that many times. She sure as hell thought about doing it to him.

Cruz unlocked the door as Lincoln got out from under the cart. "You only have a couple minutes, _chica_." Cruz opened the door, and before he had shut it, he whispered, "Good luck."

Once the door had closed, it was only Michael and Lincoln, and the silence. Michael was strapped down to his bed, chains shackled both his wrist and feet. He was staring up at the ceiling, making no indication that he even heard the door, or that she was there. But she knew that Michael sensed her; he knew she was there, and she hadn't expected him to acknowledge her. It was odd to see Michael so defenseless, but at the time he wasn't powerless. Lincoln found herself tracing the chains that held Michael prisoner to the bed and knew that they really weren't holding Michael. If he wanted to, Michael could easily snatch the chains off without even trying. Lincoln knew he was strong. The last guard (the one Kluggs replaced) had been beaten half way to death by Michael, and Lincoln had witnessed it. Even then Lincoln knew Michael was holding back as he beat the shit out of the guard.

When her finger slipped and accidentally brushed against his rough skin, his eyes shifted to her. His eyes were a dark blue, like a raging storm. He just watched the young nurse as she kept her gaze on the chains. He knew she didn't mean to touch him, and he knew that she didn't want to agitate him further. Her dark hair acted like curtain, covering her face. He knew that trick all too well because he would do the same thing until he discovered that the masks would always cover his face. He wanted to see her eyes though. He needed to see her eyes.

The wrist that Lincoln was slowly tracing twitched. She looked up, surprised that he was even responding to her with movement besides blinking and moving his head. She stared into his eyes, and for a split second she felt like he was taking her soul. His eyes, whether they were light or dark, were alluring, but sinister at the same time. She couldn't imagine what Bonham saw in those eyes as she took her last breath. Maybe Michael's eyes had consumed Bonham's soul, it surely looked like he could rob anyone of their soul with a single look.

"What did she do?"

Lincoln's voice was nothing but a whisper, but he had heard her, and he didn't answer her. He only blinked.

"Michael, what did she do?" Lincoln didn't know why, but she had to know what Bonham did. She just had to.

Michael blinked again, but this time he shook his head. Lincoln raised an eyebrow, confused. "She didn't do anything? Well, what happened?"

Michael parted his dry lips slightly; enough, however, that Lincoln saw the movement. Lincoln had played charades enough times to take an educated guess as to what Michael was trying to tell her. His lips moved slowly, she almost didn't see it. She began to move her lips too, trying to decipher Michael's way of speaking.

Speaking.

That was it! Bonham had been speaking. The old lady always did have a big mouth, and she never knew how to shut it.

"Speaking," Lincoln mumbled. "I mean, Bonham was talking. What was she talking about?"

Michael shifted his eyes back to the ceiling again. He ignored her calling his name and her hand shaking his wrist.

**(EARLIER IN THE DAY)**

_"What good is she? She's always late, always! We're already short staff because of the damn snow, and we're all running around doing half of her job."_

_Michael sat in the chair, chains on his wrist and ankles, as he listened to the head nurse ramble on and on as she prepared his lunch. Since he had woke up this morning Michael had a feeling that today wasn't going to be his day, and he had been in a mood ever since. Loomis was more annoying this morning than ever for some reason, although Michael didn't even listen to the old man ramble on like usual. After breakfast and his morning session with Loomis, Michael was sent back to his room. There he sat hunched over his desk, creating a new mask. He unconsciously began to decorate the mask in the colors of dark, mocha brown and cadet blue. The same exact colors of Lincoln's hair and eyes. The mask itself was more feminine, and looked like a masquerade mask. He had planned to give it to her today when she, Cruz, and Kluggs would walk him back to his room, but his plans had been foiled when he saw Bonham._

_Michael knew Bonham from seeing her in the halls of Smith Grooves, but he had never personally sat down with her. He knew many of the nurses refused to watch him, but they kept that to themselves. Bonham, however, didn't. She was all talk and barely bark; although Michael had heard Bonham reprehend Lincoln once or twice about her tardiness, so Michael knew that the older woman could get nasty with her words. _

_And as Bonham continued to talk to herself, Michael knew that Lincoln was running late again._

"_She should be fired for being late so many times. I mean, yes, she is a diligent worker, but she _cannot_keep showing up without any type of consequence." Bonham roughly placed Michael's lunch in front of him without of word to him. She continued to speak about Lincoln. "God only knows what that girl does outside of work. She's most likely going to drop out of college soon, or better yet, get fired or quit."_

_Michael's grip on the fork tightened, and he could feel it strain in his grasp. Lincoln was the only person from the working staff that he could stand. Yes, he dreamt of brutally killing the young intern, but he also dreamt of other things. He was still a man, no matter what they said about him or labeled him as, and he did have needs. He wasn't even going to try and deny the fact that Lincoln was a beautiful woman. She had ringlets of dark, mocha brown hair that fell mid back, and he had dreamt many times of wrapping his hands into her hair as he bashed her face repeatedly into a wall, or pulling her head back as he elected yet another moan of pleasure from her pink, soft looking lips. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, Michael knew they were the color of cadet blue, a beautiful color. He dreamt about her eyes the most. In some dreams he saw them filled with nothing but undeniable fear, but in others he saw them filled with unspoken pleasures and arousal. His dreams were always a mixture of her death and of her pleasure. He hated that she could make him feel, but most of all he hated that she didn't even try; all she had to do was be herself and she had him wrapped around her little fingers. _

_And it wasaggravating. _

_Lincoln was much more than some nurse to him. If he could ever come to terms with it, Michael would actually say he has feelings for her. What type of feelings they were, he couldn't tell you, emotions weren't his speciality. He was good, however, at reading people, and analyzing them. He noticed that Lincoln's pep-in-her-step attitude and shine in her eyes were fading away. Michael may not talk to the intern, but he does listen. He knew she was having troubles at home with her mother again, and he knew that going to college, coming to work, and caring for a scatter brain drunk of a mother was very tiring. He also knew that having Loomis breathing down her back every second about his wellbeing had to be tiring as well. He held Lincoln on a high pedestal, though; she wasn't quitting just because it had gotten rough for her. She was a fighter, and she was trying her damn hardest to make it through. _

_Whether or not Michael liked to admit it to himself, he missed her. He hadn't missed anyone in the past fifteen years. Somehow Lincoln made her way into his black soul and made a special place there. She quickly became his drug, and his favorite drug of choice. He enjoyed the way he could tick her off, and he knew that she liked getting under his skin. Those moments were the most fun he had ever had in years, and he'd be damned if he allowed someone to take that – take Lincoln – away from him. _

_He'd kill everyone in sight before he allowed that to happen. And he knew just who to start with._

"_She's just too irresponsible; too young. She should be out sucking cock like her mother does." Bonham snorted and shook her head as she flipped through the pages of the newspaper. "Yeah, just what this town needs, another Kennedy slut breaking up marriages and getting drunk off their ass."_

_So that was it._

_Michael knew Lincoln had troubles with her mother, but he didn't know why. Michael didn't sympathize her, he couldn't find it in himself to feel sympathy anymore for anything, but he did relate to her. Growing up in the conditions he did, he could understand the struggles of having your mother being labeled a slut. He doubted that her father was even in the picture, he never heard of a male figure in Lincoln's life. He also knew she was an only child. Something he had wished for his whole life, but was glad that his mother had Boo. He couldn't imagine how lonely it would feel to be an only child, but it never seemed to bother Lincoln. _

"_Who knows, she probably is sucking cock. How else could she afford college? She's her mother's child, and Lord knows that her mother isn't smart at all. All those drugs fried her damn nonexistent brain."_

_Bonham, as she continued on about Lincoln, was completely unaware of Michael's menacing glare. She also didn't notices Michael easily breaking off the chain connected to the table. It was small table compared to Michael's long limbs, all he had to do was lean forwards a bit and his job would be done. _

_And that's exactly what he did. _

_Michael leaned forward quickly, far too quickly for Bonham to see, and grabbed the nurse by the top of her head and yanked her forward. Bonham had let out a startled yelp, surprised by Michael's sudden movement. She felt herself being lifted out of her chair and being pulled towards Michael. The old nurse began to kick and scream for help, her hands flew to the top of her head, scratching at Michael's, but it was no use; Michael's grip was far too strong. Michael flipped her over on the table roughly, putting a dent in it and bruising the nurse's back. Bonham found herself staring up into the dark, soulless eyes of Michael Myers, and she knew, without a doubt, that this was her last moment alive. She began to shake in utter fear, she knew that she had urinated herself, but that was the least of her worries. Michael lifted Bonham's head up off the table slightly only to quickly bring her head back down, bashing it against the table repeatedly, creating a large dent and a blood pool. Slowly losing consciousness, Bonham saw Michael raise his fork, and she began to whimper and beg, but her pleads fell on deaf ears. With a grunt, Michael effortlessly punctured the nurse's jugular, spraying blood everywhere. He plunged the fork back into Bonham's skin, shoving it in deeper, hearing it snap under pressure and getting stuck into the nurse's skin. _

_He ignored the sirens blaring throughout the building. He was focused on the now late head nurse's body. One less person to try and take what was his away from him. _

**-Page Break-**

Lincoln gave up trying to get anymore information out of Michael. He would try to communicate with her when he wanted to. No one could force Michael to do anything.

However, Lincoln felt an uneasy feeling sink into her stomach. She knew this was a serious issue, and she knew damn well that the police would want Michael gone from Haddonfield; he had already caused enough troubles for the town residents fifteen years ago.

Lincoln was far too young to actually remember what had happened those fifteen years ago, she was only four-years old when Michael committed those murders, but she could remember the fear he instilled in every adult. Halloween was never the same again, although many parents had just put on a grin for their children and took them trick-or-treating. Michael had very quickly become a legend more so than a former resident of Haddonfield. The young children began to call him the Boogeyman, even though they knew really nothing about what took place in the old Myers house.

From childhood, Lincoln didn't remember much about Michael, he was six years older than she was. He was in fifth grade while she was in pre-k. She had seen him around the halls, she heard what the people said about him, but even at a young age Lincoln knew she had no room to judge. From what she could remember, and from the pictures she had seen, Michael was an odd looking boy with a chubby pale face, shoulder length blond hair, and baby blue eyes. It wasn't so surprising that Lincoln learned that her mother and Michael's mother were friends. Just to get by, Lincoln's mother had also worked as a stripper, although, unlike Michael's, Lincoln's mother basked in the attention she got from her job. Mrs. Myers would even babysit Lincoln on rare occasions when Lincoln's mother was out of town or gone for weeks. She remembered little of Judith and Ronny. Judith was pretty, Lincoln would give her that, but she was also known as a whore, too. She was a major tease on legs, that what Lincoln's mother would call Judith. Ronny was a completely different story. From what Lincoln could remember, Ronny was an asshole, drunk or sober. He had a mean personality and didn't give two shits about anyone. He thought he was as manly as men got, and that every woman wanted him. Once or twice a young Lincoln would catch him sneaking out the front door of their house, or making himself dinner at their table. Some friend her mother was to Mrs. Myers, huh?

Lincoln would never dare tell Michael all that, though. She doubted if he even knew that she lived in Haddonfield. Besides, what fifth grader takes notice to a pre-ker anyway? During those times the fifth graders thought they were the shit; the Kings and Queens of elementary school. And those in pre-k were just little babies who knew nothing. But what Lincoln didn't know was that Michael had noticed her all those years ago. She was a cute little girl, he had hoped his baby sister would be as cute as her. She had a mass of unruly brown curls, always bouncing with every step she took. Back then she had that pep-in-her-step, and her laughter was the most adorable sound ever to Michael. Her eyes, back then, were a little too big for her face, but he always loved the way they stood out against her pale skin and dark hair. He never knew her mother, but he had seen her once or twice. When his father was still alive, Michael's mother would always bring the baby Lincoln over to watch whenever her mother would disappear. Michael knew that his mother and Lincoln's mother were coworkers, and he felt for the girl. That was one of the reasons he took notice to her. He wasn't stupid either, he knew what type of company her mother kept, and he had always hated that she was around that. And it seemed like her mother had never changed.

There was a tap against the metal door, and Lincoln knew that it was her single to go.

She took her hand off of Michael's wrist slowly. "I have to go, Michael."

Michael didn't give any indication that he had heard her, but before she moved away from him, Michael's long fingers brushed against Lincoln's. A surprised Lincoln looked back at Michael and raised an eyebrow. It wasn't everyday that Michael was so active. Michael pointed the best he could to the side where his desk was. No one, and Lincoln meant no one,went near Michael's desk; no one touched his masks either.

"Your desk?" Lincoln asked for conformation. She didn't want to anger him.

Michael nodded his head and Lincoln made her way over to the desk slowly. She took her eyes off of Michael to see what was there, and she gasped at what she saw. The mask, which reminded her of a masquerade mask, was beautiful. It was a beautiful blue coloring, with dark brown, almost black, along the edges. Outlining where the opening for the eyes was, was a soft gold coloring. Lincoln picked it up gingerly, completely awestruck at the beauty of the mask.

"Thank you, Michael." Lincoln knew that Michael was talented, but she didn't know that he was _that_ talented. "It's beautiful. I love it."

Michael nodded his head, glad that she liked the mask.

Lincoln waved goodbye to Michael as she slipped out the door, and there she left Michael to dream about her death and pleasures once again.

**-Page Break-**

The air was crisped, and colorful leaves covered the sidewalks and streets. It was dark out by the time Lincoln reached her house; the moon was peaking out from underneath the dark clouds. As she shuffled through her bag to find her keys, she heard something shatter on the other side of the door. With a heavy sigh, Lincoln pushed the front door open and was engulfed in the bittersweet smell of hard liquor.

Lying stretched out on the couch was Lori Kennedy, Lincoln's mother. The older woman had long, stringy light brown hair that touched her small chest. She had brown eyes that looked like a muddy brown coloring, and they were wide too, but dull. Lori was skinny too, practically all bones; but she was also slightly taller than the average woman, standing at 5"7'. The only thing Lincoln inherited from her mother was the nose and the lips, everything else she got from her father. Lori was only thirty-seven years old, but she was like a toddler, although Lincoln thought that even some toddlers behaved better than her mother did.

"Van," Lori slurred. "Is that you?"

Lincoln picked up the broken alcohol bottle. "No, mom, it's me."

Lori's face fell. "Oh."

Lincoln was use to getting that type of greeting from her mother. Lori was never that happy to see her daughter, she was only happy to see Van, her boyfriend/drug dealer. Lincoln's mother and Van had only been dating for a month, but she was sure she'd come home one day to find her mother gone without an explanation, only to have her return and announce that she and Van were married. Lincoln had lost track at how many times her mother had done that, but they never lasted. Neither her mother or the men in her life were faithful and honest so the marriages were quickly terminated.

Looking around the room, Lincoln rolled her eyes. On the table were empty bottles and a dirty bong. Wrappers and bags of chips littered the floor, as did some beer cans. There was a stain on the floor that had been there even before Lincoln was born, and the wallpaper was peeling off the walls. Cigarette stains adorned the ugly, mustard colored couch as did food stains. It reeked inside every room of the house except for Lincoln's room. No matter the weather Lincoln had her window open, airing out the room. She had candles lit in her room as well, although whenever she was gone she would put the candles out. If her mother couldn't find her lighter for her cigarettes then she would light them by using the burning candle in Lincoln's room; she'd do the same for the marijuana.

"C'mon, mom, let's get you into bed." Lincoln didn't even notice that it was already 12:00AM.

Lori waved her hand in the air, brushing off what her daughter had said; like usual. "You're not the boss of me. Stop being so fucking stuck up." She held up a blunt. "Here, take a hit, relax."

Never again would Lincoln take anything from her mother. At the age of nine, Lincoln was already smoking weed and drinking, all because of her mother. Like any child, she had trusted her mother, thinking that whatever her mother would give her was good for her, but she was so wrong. There were times when the alcohol or weed were far too strong for Lincoln's young body and paralyze her. She couldn't even remember how many days she had missed of elementary school before her mother had met her ex-boyfriend Ross. Ross was a nice guy, decent, and well kept. He didn't do drugs, but he only drank on special occasions. He had a positive attitude and he actually acknowledged Lincoln. He wasn't the type of guy her mother would usually go for. Lincoln knew that Ross wanted to leave her mother months earlier, but he had only stayed for the young Lincoln. How could someone turn their back on a child who had problems with alcohol and drugs because of their careless mother? Because of Ross, Lincoln was clean, she wasn't an addict like her mother. She had been upset when Ross had left, but he had found a woman he really liked and she liked him too, not just for his money. Every now and then Lincoln and Ross would text or call each other, just to see how the other was doing.

Lincoln snatched the blunt out of her mothers hand and threw it into the ash trey. "No, and you need to lay off all this shit. Did you even go to work today?"

"Fuck you," Lori spat at her daughter. "Who the fuck made you Queen?"

"I did, since you obviously don't want to step up and be a mother." Fights like theses were common in the Kennedy household.

Lori struggled to sit up properly and pointed an accusing finger at Lincoln. "You're right, I didn't want to be a mother and I still don't. I should have aborted you like I did the other piece of shit."

A couple years back Lori became pregnant. It was some random guy's baby, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He claimed it wasn't his, and Lincoln couldn't blame him; her mother did sleep around a lot. Not only did the guy not want the baby, but neither did Lori, so she drank and drank, and smoked and smoked until she passed out. Finally, the dangers of drinking resulted in a miscarriage. Lincoln thought it was absolutely cruel, and inhuman of her mother, but small part of her envied her unborn sibling. They wouldn't have to suffer through living with Lori, a woman who obviously wasn't fit to be a parent.

Lincoln was unfazed by her mother's cruel words. She rolled her eyes and made her way up your steps. "Don't burn the fucking house down!" Almost every night Lori would have s still lit cigarette hanging from her mouth. Lincoln knew it was only a matter of time before her mother would catch herself on fire, or the whole house.

Lincoln jumped into her bed after she showered and changed her clothes. She placed the mask Michael had made for her on her nightstand.

Today had been one of the longest days of her life, and once she had closed her eyes, she was out for the rest of the night.

* * *

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